


Passionate Serenity/Serene Passion

by MrsHamill



Series: Jedi Code Breakers [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bonding, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-13
Updated: 2000-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jedi finally get a room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passionate Serenity/Serene Passion

**Author's Note:**

> Well, as usual, Fox did her fantastic, outstandingly superlative job on beta work. She is absolutely the best, bar none, but is NOT a Master... I promised I'd never call her that. And Bunny helped so much I could probably put her name up there too, except she gets violent with me. NEVER get a Bunny mad at you. And for those that have asked, yes, the next story is called "Death and the Force." And no, I'm not tellin' who dies. Guess.
> 
> Wrong. ;-) 

> _There is no emotion, there is peace  
there is no ignorance, there is knowledge  
there is no passion, there is serenity  
there is no death, there is the Force  
  
  
Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy.  
Jedi use their powers to defend and protect, never to attack others.  
Jedi respect all life in any form.  
Jedi serve others rather than rule over them, for the good of the galaxy.  
Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training._  
  


* * *

I have fallen in love with my apprentice.  
  
What kind of a Master am I that I could have such thoughts? How could it be possible that my every waking - and sleeping - moment could be taken up with thinking about him, the way he moves, the way he looks, the way he thinks? I must be mad. I am mad. But mad or not, one thing is true: I have fallen in love with my apprentice.  
  
He is nearly twenty-one; I am forty-seven. More than twice his age. And I am his Master, his teacher, his mentor, his father figure even. That which he aspires to be. Although I know of other cases where a Master and a Padawan have taken on a romantic relationship, I have always wondered how that could be accomplished without compromising the student's training. It has always been my belief that one cannot be a lover AND a teacher. It's impossible, heretical, damning, and... and...  
  
Unavoidable. For I want him. I need him. I want to taste every inch of that glorious golden skin; I want to find out how to make him cry out in passion; I want to hear him scream my name as he comes into my mouth, filling me up with his seed.  
  
During our last mission I thought I had lost him to an old friend. Part of me was frantic, part was jealous, and part was glad that perhaps I could now end this hopeless longing for something I couldn't have. But then it turned out not to be, and since then, I've noticed... looks, speculative looks, on his part towards me. Oh, Force save me, for I do not want a brief sexual fling. I want him, all of him; his heart, his soul. And that is something I simply cannot contemplate. He is so young. I am too old. And I am his teacher. But still the fact remains.  
  
I have fallen in love with my apprentice.  
  


* * *

I have fallen in love with my Master.  
  
I'm sure that's what this is, because I can think of no other emotion that could drive me so insane. But he is my Master, I am his Padawan... surely this is forbidden, or at least frowned upon. And there is our age difference to consider. I am young and therefore relatively inexperienced; what could a man of his stature possibly see in loving a mere stripling like me?  
  
I watch him move with that leonine grace; I listen to him speak in that soothing growl that sends shivers down my spine... Force. I'm completely around the bend. Over my Master. How in the name of all the stars there are did this happen? I most certainly did not have these feelings when I was younger, and yet now, almost overnight, I see him not as my teacher, my Master, but as a man. A man I would very much - VERY much - like to take to bed. Or be taken to bed by. Anything. I do not have the words any more. Just the want.  
  
He kissed me on our last mission, and it was not the chaste kiss I am accustomed to. But it was not intentional either; both of us had been under some stress and it...just...happened. I could feel his surprise and dismay along our bond after it occurred, and later he tried to apologize. But an apology is not what I wanted. I wanted him to do it again. I still want him to do it again. But I can't tell him that.  
  
Obviously, he cares for me, and I'm sure he even loves me. I am, after all, his Padawan and the student he's had for almost ten years. Oh, how I wish there could be more. I'd even settle for a one-night-stand, if I thought that was all I could get, because then at least I'd have the memories. Memories of his scent, his taste, his silken skin under mine, his glorious sex deep inside me, the taste of his seed on my lips...  
  
I have fallen in love with my Master. Oh Force, what am I to do?  
  


* * *

It was a weary pair that exited a shuttle at the Jedi Temple landing pad. Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi trudged into the whirling maelstrom that was the Jedi Temple on a late weekday afternoon completely unaffected by the sound and fury around them. Their only goal was their quarters, where several day's worth of travel could be washed away and real beds could be slept upon.  
  
Their quarters had that slightly stale 'no-one home' smell as they entered. Qui-Gon brought up the lights, then sat on the worn, comfortable sofa and immediately removed his boots, wiggling his toes in abandon and sighing. Obi-Wan laughed from the kitchenette, where he was putting water on for tea. His Master just smiled and leaned his head back against the back of the couch.  
  
As the Padawan brought two fragrant cups to the sitting room, giving one to his Master and putting the other on the end table while he removed his own boots, he said, "I wonder how long we'll have at home this time? Has the Council called you at all?"  
  
"No, they haven't," Qui-Gon said, sipping his tea. "I'm sure there's a message for us amongst the millions no doubt accumulated during this last absence. At least the report is finished, thanks to you."  
  
Obi-Wan smiled. "It beat hearing about Malastairian politics." Standing, he moved to their shared dataset and called up messages. "Yes, you're right, here's something for you from the Council. Several for me... ah, Bant is back! It'd be nice to see her again." After a moments further reading, he asked, "Master? Who is Dorim?"  
  
After a brief stunned pause, Qui-Gon leapt to his feet and gently displaced his Padawan at the dataset. " _Dorim_ did you say? Yes! Stars, he's back from the rim!"  
  
At his apprentice's obvious confusion, Qui-Gon explained. "He's an old friend, Obi-Wan, a very old and dear friend. I haven't seen him in, oh, six years? Yes, it was just after I had taken you on as Padawan that he left for a long term assignment. You probably don't remember him."  
  
At those words, Obi-Wan was suddenly reminded of a tall blond man, and walking in on his Master in a passionate clinch with said man. Even though Obi-Wan had been just a young boy, he clearly remembered the feeling of embarrassment and arousal that error had brought him.  
  
But Qui-Gon was still talking. "I'll have to call him. Dorim! How wonderful!"  
  


* * *

  
Qui-Gon was indeed summoned before the Council, but not until the next day. Master and Padawan enjoyed a quiet evening and exhausted sleep, and woke fresh the next morning. Obi-Wan had several classes to catch up on, including the dreaded debate, so his Master excused him from attending the Council briefing to see to his lessons.  
  
It was with some trepidation that he sought out Master Gib-Wahl first, but he knew the task would only get worse in his mind the more he put it off. To his chagrin and relief, the Master was not in his office, but there were topics and showtimes posted on his door and Obi-Wan went over them carefully.  
  
As he stood there, mentally reviewing how much time he had before he was sacrificed on the altar of debate, a deceptively sweet female voice came from behind him. "Kenobi darling, what a delightful surprise to see you back."  
  
He turned, smiling at the owner of the voice. "I suppose you were hoping I'd default on the debate then, Phrel? No such luck I'm afraid, my dear."  
  
The very short human woman who faced him grinned maliciously. "Ah, well, I do prefer _some_ challenge to absolutely none. Besides, this is one time your adorable little dimples won't help you. I intend to grind you into dust and blast you into oblivion, Padawan."  
  
"You are certainly welcome to try, Padawan," he replied, then they both laughed and hugged each other. Standing on her tip-toes, the young woman kissed Obi-Wan hard on his cheek, then swept her unruly brown hair from her face.  
  
"I am glad you made it back, Obi-Wan, winning by default is always SUCH a bore," she said, still grinning.  
  
Shaking his head, Obi-Wan tsk'd at her. "Such overconfidence. Always has been your downfall, Joma. You haven't got a prayer. Master Jinn has been force feeding me Malastairian politics for the last six days."  
  
Her eyes momentarily widening, the other Padawan nonetheless regained her composure quickly. "Well, like I said... some challenge is better than none. Let me buy you dinner tonight to welcome you home and try to seduce you into giving up. Besides, I'd love to hear all about what you and your beauteous Master discussed on the topic."  
  
Laughing, Obi-Wan said "I'd love to. Let me check with my Master first though. I'll send you a message."  
  
"Sounds good. Oh, and Obi-Wan?"  
  
"Yes?" he said, before turning to go.  
  
"Better take that sackcloth and ashes out of storage, you're going to need it!" With a jaunty wave over her shoulder and an enticing wiggle to her butt, Joma vanished around the corner, leaving her bemused opponent behind her.  
  


* * *

  
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of teaching Masters and lesson plans. Make-up exams were scheduled in Astrometrics and Judicial Procedures, placements were quickly confirmed in Statistical Engineering and Xenobiology. Not sure how long he would remain in the Temple, Obi-Wan did not sign up for any sitting classes or lectures, figuring he could do that after he spoke with his Master.  
  
At lunch, he joined several of his year mates at the Senior Padawan's table. His welcome back was noisy and gratifying, and at their behest he gave them a brief rundown of his latest mission, causing unbelieving stares and outright guffaws. Bant was there as well, to his delight, and asked him if he had seen Joma, who had apparently been looking for him. Mid-way through his lunch, Qui-Gon entered the room and unerringly made his way to his Padawan, waving him down when the younger man would have stood.  
  
"I've finally been paroled by the Council, Padawan, and I've put us down for room ten in an hour," Qui-Gon said, smiling at the chuckles his comment produced. "Did you sign up for classes yet?"  
  
"No, Master," Obi-Wan replied, smiling up at the man who stood over him, one hand gentle on his shoulder. "I thought it would be better to talk to you first."  
  
"Good. We'll discuss it while we spar. I'm going to grab some lunch and I'll meet you there."  
  
Qui-Gon walked away to fetch a tray of lunch, totally oblivious to the sighs of longing from the Senior Padawan's table. "Obi," one petite blonde girl said softly, "HOW did you manage to get apprenticed to the most gorgeous Master in the Temple?"  
  
Smiling outwardly, but inwardly sighing himself, Obi-Wan didn't answer. He was afraid of saying too much if he replied. Instead, he concentrated on eating and listening to the gossip he'd missed while he was away, excusing himself after a little over half an hour to go change and meet his Master.  
  
Room ten was an older room deep in the bowels of the Temple, but was one of the few gymnasiums with high enough ceilings for significant aerials. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon arrived nearly simultaneously, and, mindful of the lunch they had just eaten, started slowly stretching and performing gentle, easy katas before getting to their true work-out. During their warm-up, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan talked about the Padawan's classes and what make up work would be necessary for him.  
  
"The Council - finally recognizing that we can only do so much - has granted us a reprieve for a month or two, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told his student. "You should go ahead and sign up for whatever classes you can; I can't guarantee this hiatus will last."  
  
Smiling at his Master, Obi-Wan answered, "I understand that, and I'm grateful the Council is finally giving us some down time. There are three classes ongoing now that I'd like to sit in on, I'll talk to the Masters tonight."  
  
"Have you spoken to Master Gib-Wahl yet?" Qui-Gon asked, as he stood against the wall, bending into a leg stretch.  
  
"No, I missed him," Obi-Wan replied from the floor, where he was doing horizontal splits. "But he had the debate times and places listed, and I ran into my opponent."  
  
At Qui-Gon's raised, inquiring eyebrow, Obi-Wan continued. "Do you remember Joma Phrel? A few years older than me, only comes up to my armpit, long brown hair NOT in a Padawan cut?"  
  
"Ah, yes. The Correllian Padawan of Master T'blu. Feisty little thing as I recall. Very strong in the Force. She's your opponent?"  
  
Obi-Wan grinned at his Master's description. "Feisty is only the half of it, Master. Yes, and she's already counting her winning credits. She's invited me to dinner tonight to see if she can 'seduce me into quitting' - her words."  
  
"I trust she won't be able to," his Master said calmly, while feeling a slight spike of - something - deep inside. "But you are free to go if you wish."  
  
"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan said, laughing, rising to his feet. "She won't. I'm actually looking forward to debating her. From what I've seen and heard, her tactics tend to be quite, um, I guess passionate would be the right word."  
  
Moving into slow katas, his Padawan mirroring his actions, Qui-Gon said, "Explain."  
  
"Well," Obi-Wan said slowly, "you need to have seen her debate. She uses every single tactic against her opponents she can, from devastating logic to chin quivering. She's going to make one hell of a diplomat some day... no one will be able to beat her. She can be quite amazing." After a few minutes of slow movement, Obi-Wan continued. "She's only lost one debate that I'm aware of, and that was one of her first. Personally, I don't think I stand a chance, but I won't tell her that."  
  
"Don't let your preconceptions color your actions in the debate," Qui-Gon warned, beginning to move them a bit faster as their bodies loosened up.  
  
"I won't Master," Obi-Wan said, following his mentor's lead. "She's a good friend, but I can be ruthless as well!"  
  
Qui-Gon chuckled at that, and the two men continued their warm-up exercises, gradually proceeding into open handed sparring. Lately, Qui-Gon had been working with Obi-Wan on his unarmed combat techniques, sensing that this was an area on which his Padawan still needed work. There were few in the Temple who could match Obi-Wan in 'saber fighting, but his hand-to-hand technique was somewhat lacking. Qui-Gon blamed himself; he found it difficult to work with his student on this aspect for many reasons.  
  
After many hours of meditation into this deficiency, he had come to several conclusions. One was that Obi-Wan had always been so much smaller, physically, than him and when the boy was younger, he feared to press too hard. This was, of course, wrong of him and something he should have corrected long before, but understandable. The most telling problem, though, had only developed once the boy had started becoming a man. Qui-Gon was intensely attracted to Obi-Wan, and hand-to-hand combat allowed simply too many intimacies for him to be certain of his reactions.  
  
This was not masterly behavior, he had told himself sternly over and over. Obi-Wan was his _student_ and there was nothing that should stand in the way of him teaching the boy. The man, rather. Shoving his indecision and inappropriate thoughts out of the way for later release into the Force, Qui-Gon concentrated on nothing but dispassionate judgment of his student's progress, pushing him hard and making him work for every advancement.  
  
Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was reveling in the workout once his Master began really focusing. He knew he would be very sore the next day, but also knew that this was what he needed, and being alone with his Master more than made up for the intense and strenuous exercise.  
  
Watching his student proceed through various attack and defense postures, Qui-Gon paused him frequently to make adjustments and assess strengths. "Your reactive hand is too loose, Obi-Wan," he said several times, finally pressing back as his student attacked. Obi-Wan's left foot was constantly in a weak placement as well, and the Master finally sighed and moved them into slow battle.  
  
"Watch your positioning, Padawan," he murmured, as they proceeded through attack and defense. Obi-Wan chewed his lower lip as he concentrated on why his left side was so weak. He knew he was aggressively right handed and was beginning to suspect a left handed weak guard, when Qui-Gon suddenly sped up, forcing him to respond in kind. Before he knew it, he was on the floor, his Master over him.  
  
"I pressed to your left, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, helping the younger man up. "We're going to have to work on that."  
  
Smiling ruefully, Obi-Wan answered, "Yes, I can see that Master. Can we try that again?"  
  
Nodding and smiling himself, Qui-Gon attacked his student, first at half speed then at full. Again, Obi-Wan ended on the floor, and again they started. Finally, after two more throws, Obi-Wan managed to resist the take down, but still ended up in a compromising hold.  
  
Slow clapping surprised both Master and Padawan, drawing their attention to a grinning spectator neither one had been aware of. Face breaking into a huge smile, Qui-Gon cried, "Dorim!" and embraced the man, both of them laughing and talking a mile a minute. Obi-Wan hung back, watching his Master hugging his 'old friend' warily.  
  
Dorim was tall, taller than Obi-Wan but still a couple inches shorter than his Master. Blond, extremely curly hair was cut close to his head framing light blue eyes and clear, pale skin. His mouth was wide and expressive, and even though he was nearly Qui-Gon's age, he had the broad shoulders and narrow waist of someone who took good care of himself. When he laughed, he threw his whole body into it and his eyes sparkled brightly.  
  
Obi-Wan hated him on sight.  
  
Quickly burying his uncomfortable rush of emotion, Obi-Wan let himself be dragged over to greet the strange knight. "Obi-Wan, this is Dorim apNorill, you may not remember but you did meet him briefly years ago."  
  
"This can't be little Obi-Wan," Dorim was saying as he shook the Padawan's hand. "Obi-Wan only comes up to here," indicating a spot on his chest, "and is all gangly elbows and knees."  
  
"He grew up, Dor," Qui-Gon said, pride evident in his voice. "And just look at what was hiding." Obi-Wan flushed a bit as his Master slung an arm around his shoulder, but he still felt all 'gangly elbows and knees' in the face of this elegant and handsome Knight so much closer to his Master's age.  
  
"You've done well by him Qui," Dorim was saying, smiling at both of them. "But as usual I see you've been lazy in hand-to-hand. You getting senile in your age, old man?"  
  
Not taking his arm from his Padawan's shoulders, Qui-Gon laughed. "Oh, so now I'm old, am I? You'd better watch yourself, Knight, I can still take you two falls out of three."  
  
"Maybe... but not three out of four!" Changing the subject, but not being any less light-hearted, Dorim continued, "And by the way, you're right about his left leg. I think that's what holding him back on the whole left side. He's got a tendency to turn it out."  
  
Resigned to being talked about as if he weren't there, Obi-Wan nonetheless blinked at this. His Master looked down at him, eyes still sparkling with amusement. _Oh Force, I wish I could make him look like that_ Obi-Wan thought to himself desperately, frantically checking the resiliency of his shielding and finding it stable.  
  
"Let's try that again, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon was saying, stepping back away from his Padawan. "Can you go through the routine without me...say at half speed? I want to watch from behind and to the left of you."  
  
Obliging, Obi-Wan did just that, also throwing his concentration in to the mix, trying to move naturally while simultaneously following his own movements. And now that his attention was on it, he could feel it, and stopped. "That's it Master," he admitted, bouncing back on his left heel but still holding the pose that stymied him. "I wasn't paying enough attention before, but that's it."  
  
Qui-Gon squatted behind his student, running his hand down the offending limb gently. "What do you think, Dor?" he asked his friend, who crossed to the other side of the Padawan and examined him as well.  
  
"Looks like his knee, Qui," Dorim replied. "Have you injured yourself lately Obi-Wan?"  
  
Master and Padawan looked at each other, then laughed simultaneously. "But that was almost a year and a half ago, Master!" Obi-Wan said, still grinning.  
  
Standing and straightening his tunic Qui-Gon said, "Obi-Wan took a glancing blaster shot during our mission to Mimseh a while ago. We thought it healed, but apparently it's not. I think we're done here then, Padawan," he continued, fighting to keep from putting his arm around his student again. "Now that we know the cause, I think we know the resolution..."  
  
Grinning and rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan said, "Let me guess. Weight training."  
  
"Impudent. Yes, and resistance training too," Qui-Gon laughed.  
  
"I'll add it to my regular routine in the morning, Master," Obi-Wan said, still grinning. "Ten reps?"  
  
Pursing his lips and thinking, Qui-Gon answered, "Make it eight, and be careful. It's probably fully healed but you don't want to take the chance of re-injuring it. If you show no problems in a few days, you can up the number of reps."  
  
"Padawan," Dorim suddenly said, from where he leaned against the wall. He had been watching the interaction between the Master and Padawan and smiling to himself. "I hope you recognize what a great Master you have here," he continued, crossing the mat to deliver a smack to Qui-Gon's back.  
  
The easy camaraderie Obi-Wan had felt with his Master abruptly fled, and he swallowed, trying to smile back. "Yes, sir," he said, ducking his head. With any luck, he thought, the Knight would just think it shyness on his part.  
  
Gathering up robes and 'sabers, Qui-Gon passed Obi-Wan his and slung his own over one shoulder. "So, Dor, you up to dinner tonight? I believe Obi-Wan has a date already..."  
  
"Master!" Obi-Wan protested. "It's not a date, she's just a friend..." for some reason, Obi-Wan found it very important to get that information across to his Master, who only laughed.  
  
"Yes, Padawan, I know, but I need something to keep me occupied while you are out tonight," Qui-Gon answered, putting his arm around the tall Knight. "What do you say, Dor? We can talk about old times."  
  
"Do you promise not to cook?" Dorim asked, a wicked smile in his eyes. As his Master laughed, Obi-Wan's eyes followed the two older men out of the gym, sadly realizing he had been forgotten in his Master's pleasure at seeing his old friend.  
  
Shrugging off his discomfiture, he chimed for Joma on his commlink, raising the other Padawan on the first try.  
  
"Phrel."  
  
"Hey, Joma, it's Kenobi. About dinner..."  
  
"Kenobi! Don't tell me you can't 'cause I've already been shopping..."  
  
Laughing, Obi-Wan said, "Oh, no, Master's said it's all right." Then what she said struck him. "'Been shopping'? You're going to cook for me?"  
  
"What's the matter, Obi-Wan? Don't trust me to cook? I promise not to poison you," Joma chuckled evilly.  
  
"Oh Force. Well, a Kenobi never backs down from a challenge. When and where, oh short one?"  
  
"I'll get you for that one, Kenobi. My quarters, half past six. My Master's off planet visiting relatives so I'll have you all to myself. Bring lube. Off."  
  
Caught between hilarity and trepidation at her last words, Obi-Wan gave up and went to shower and change.  
  


* * *

  
To his relief, Dorim was not in his quarters by the time Obi-Wan arrived. His Master was in his room and since he heard water running he inferred Qui-Gon was showering. He had a couple of hours before he needed to leave for Joma's so Obi-Wan decided to meditate, to try and dispel some of the negative emotions meeting Qui-Gon's old friend had created.  
  
As he settled down in lotus in the stream of afternoon light coming from the window, he quieted his mind and did his best to examine his feelings (in good Jedi fashion, he thought mockingly). That part was easy; nervousness, jealousy, envy, resentfulness, all were present in sufficient quantities to choke a bantha. Examining exactly why those feelings were manifest was harder, but Obi-Wan was too honest with himself to deny the essential truth.  
  
He was in love with Qui-Gon, with his Master, and he resented the fact that this Knight could bring out emotions in Qui-Gon that he could not.  
  
All right then, there it was. Now, what was he going to do about it? What COULD he do about it? For when faced with the impressive Knight apNorill, Obi-Wan could do little but catalogue the ways he was deficient, hardly a fitting partner - romantic or otherwise - to the imposing Qui-Gon Jinn. But Obi-Wan was a Jedi, and Jedi are trained to find other ways out of seemingly impossible situations. Like this one.  
  
Sighing and opening his eyes finally, Obi-Wan decided he was calm enough to face Joma, even if he didn't have an answer to his dilemma yet. He stood and went to his room to change, not noticing his Master standing in the doorway to his room, his hair still damp from his shower, staring at his student with an expression of enigmatic longing on his face.  
  
By the time Obi-Wan was ready, Qui-Gon had managed to calm himself from seeing the vision of his Padawan, brilliant in the shaft of light from the window, calm and focused in his meditations. It had quite taken his breath away. _Old fool,_ he had thought roughly to himself, _if you're going to do nothing but stare, you might as well try to figure out if there could be anything between you._ And that thought had stopped him in his tracks. While he placed an order for dinner for two to be delivered to his quarters, he mulled over what he could possibly do, and decided to try and sound out his apprentice. Perhaps he could determine if there was any chance his feelings were even slightly returned.  
  
But when Obi-Wan came out of his room, his decision fell apart. The younger man had opted for civilian clothes, tight black pants and an emerald green silk bolero shirt that set off his eyes and his hair and he looked... stunning. It was fairly obvious to Qui-Gon that his Padawan was not seeing this as merely a dinner with an old friend. And his next words confirmed that.  
  
"Master," he said, rummaging through the cabinets of their little kitchenette, "do you remember what happened to those bottles of... oh, never mind, here they are." He stood with a bottle of Aldaraanian wine in one hand, straightened his shirt and smiled at his Master. "I'm going to take this with me, do you mind? We still have one more left." The wine had been a gift from a mission several years before, and over the years they had only gradually used it up, saving it for special occasions. The fact that Obi-Wan wanted to use it now...  
  
"Of course not, Padawan, go ahead," Qui-Gon said, hoping his voice was not as hoarse as it sounded. "Will you, I mean, can I expect you... home tonight..." he groaned to himself, realizing how ridiculous that sounded.  
  
Seeming confused, Obi-Wan answered, "I'll be home by curfew, Master, I have classes early. I've spoken with Master Jitchell and I'll be starting her lecture on Stat Engineering in the morning. I've not decided about Xenobiology, but I will by tomorrow afternoon."  
  
The two men faced each other, separated only by the expanse of rug between the kitchenette and the small common area, but it might as well have been a parsec. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon wished he and his Padawan could have developed the telepathy that so rarely occurred between closely bonded pairs; perhaps it would have been easier for him to articulate his feelings, his longing. But as it stood, they were each incapable of crossing the gap of insecurity and miscommunication that lay between them.  
  
Finally, Obi-Wan tucked the bottle of wine under his arm and said, "I'd best go." As he passed his Master, heading for the door, he said, "I hope you enjoy your dinner with Knight apNorill, Master." Then he was gone, and Qui-Gon stood still looking after the bright comet of a Padawan that had streaked through his life.  
  


* * *

  
Dorim arrived shortly after the dinner did, bearing gifts; two bottles of aged Correllian brandy. He sniffed the air appreciatively as he entered his friend's quarters. "Ah. Good. You didn't cook."  
  
Qui-Gon laughed. "I HAVE gotten better Dor," he said. "Just because I burned your rations on the survival test..."  
  
"We're lucky we survived, Qui," Dorim said, moving into the kitchenette. "Where are your glasses? Oh, here they are. Have a starter with me Qui."  
  
"Of a certainty, Dor," Qui-Gon said, accepting the glass of liqueur with a smile.  
  
Dinner was pleasant and fun, two old friends catching up with each other after years apart. Dorim spoke quietly of the horrors he had seen out on the Rim and how pleased he was that the mission was finally over. "Are they going to keep you around here for a while then, Dor?" Qui-Gon asked over another snifter of brandy as they moved to the sofa after eating.  
  
Grimacing, the younger Knight replied, "I hope so. I've had my fill of slavers and arms runners. I could use some boring treaty stuff like you do. Tell me about that mission you spoke of in the gym, to Mimseh?"  
  
Gradually, the night progressed and the fluid level in the first bottle dropped. The second bottle was opened and poured, and the conversation became louder and less coherent as old times were dredged up and embarrassing moments yanked out again to the light of day. At one point, Qui-Gon pulled out an old holo album of their Padawan days and they spent some time laughing uproariously at the stills therein.  
  
As the level dropped in the second bottle, the friends eventually found themselves on the floor in front of the sofa. Qui-Gon had his arm around his friend as they reminded themselves of their first missions, when suddenly Dorim leaned over and sloppily kissed him. Laughing, Qui-Gon said, "What was that for?"  
  
Laughing himself, Dorim answered, "Been wanting to do that all afternoon. Ya know, Qui, you never tol' me if I was your first."  
  
"And you think I'm gonna tell you THAT?" Qui-Gon responded, affecting a grand haughtiness that was spoiled by his giggles and weaving. "I was eighteen for Sith's sake. What do YOU think?"  
  
"I think you were the most experienced virgin in the Temple," was the reply, one that both men found intensely hilarious. More brandy was poured and drunk, heedless of the consequences.  
  


* * *

  
Obi-Wan was right on time at Joma Phrel's quarters, and he pressed the bell somewhat anxiously. He had no idea what to expect of the female Padawan, but the rumors about her made him wonder.  
  
But the Joma that showed him in was significantly different one than what he had seen in public. She too had opted for civilian clothes, slacks and a shirt just as casual as Obi-Wan's; her long hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She took the wine from him happily, opening it immediately to let it breathe while examining the label approvingly. "Well, it's not lube, but it'll do," she said, grinning over her shoulder at him. "Have a seat. Dinner's just about ready."  
  
She disappeared into the kitchenette while Obi-Wan sat on the sofa, examining her quarters. Though exactly the same lay-out as his own, Joma and her Master had vastly different tastes. Master T'blu was Ithsheeian, a reptilian race known for their patience and wisdom. The walls of their quarters were decorated with shields and masks from all over the galaxy, and odd sized statutes, some of which Obi-Wan recognized as totems, lay scattered about. One entire wall was books, most very old and rare looking. He could tell from where he sat that most of the books' spines held languages he was not familiar with.  
  
After just a few minutes, Joma returned, bearing a large platter on which rested several plates. She put the platter on a stand near the table then smiled at him. "Dinner is served. C'mon have a seat."  
  
As he stood and moved to the dining table, she removed the cloth holding back her hair and it cascaded down her back. Holding her chair for her while she sat, he said, "You know, I've never heard how you managed to avoid a Padawan cut. Your hair is the envy of most of the beings in the Temple."  
  
She grinned and poured them some wine. "I'll tell you the story... after we eat. Must eat this hot, it loses a lot of its flavor when it cools. Here, have some of the blue veggies, then follow it with the light pink meat over here. This sauce..." and she proceeded to explain the several dishes to him, all the while serving him. It smelled - different, he thought to himself, not bad, but unlike any food he had ever tried. After a few bites, he decided it was good, but definitely an acquired taste.  
  
Joma grinned at the intent expression on his face as he chewed and swallowed. "Interesting, huh?" At his nod, she continued. "Master taught me. These are specialties of his planet. I've had to adapt some of them because I simply cannot abide food that is constantly trying to escape off my plate. It took me quite a while to explain that to him."  
  
Obi-Wan laughed at that. "Oh, I've been there on that one. Luckily not very often, but enough to give me heartburn. My Master just gives me 'the Look'," and here he glared across the table at the other Padawan, sending her into gales of recognition laughter, "and I'm expected to skewer whatever is trying to escape its fate and eat it."  
  
The other Padawan was surprisingly easy to talk to, Obi-Wan decided during dinner. She was funny, intelligent and full of gossip and anecdotes about Temple life. Although he had known her for some years, he had not had enough of a chance to get to know her very well since he was so frequently away from the Temple on missions, and she - he realized - apparently never left.  
  
He mentioned to her his need for a class in Xenobiology, and she recommended one of her classes, led by Master Chowian. "You understand Wookiee, don't you? Her classes may lack a bit in lecture, but she knows her stuff. I could check with her in the morning to see if she's got any more space if you'd like. I was almost failing Xenobio before she took me under her wing."  
  
After dinner, while they finished up the wine, he told her stories of his missions and she listened, enraptured. "You're lucky you know," she said at one point, "your Master has you away and experiencing so many different cultures. I quite envy you."  
  
He shook his head. "The grass is always bluer, Joma," he replied. "There's a price to pay for being away so often. How is it that you've managed to stay here in the Temple?"  
  
They sat on the sofa, the dishes having been cleared. She had lowered the lights somewhat and soft music was playing in the background. Holding her glass up, she swirled the amber fluid around as she answered, a bit sadly. "Oh, it's me, I guess. I'm one of those 'Force Adepts'... the Force likes me and no one wants to take a chance that I'll blow up a planet with it."  
  
She suddenly grinned at him. "That's the story behind my hair, you know. I like my hair. Always have. Master took me as his Padawan early by special request, since I was causing the matrons in the creche absolute fits, and all the other kids were picking on me. He cut my hair - against my will too - and that night, I just Force-grew it out again. We went through that for about a month - him trying everything from Force blinders to logical reasoning - before he gave up. Went to the Council and got permission to just leave it be."  
  
Amazed at this recitation, Obi-Wan could only gawk at her. "That is... Your Master must be quite a man."  
  
"Oh, he is, believe me," she laughed. "He's absolutely the best. No one else could have put up with what he did, and still managed to teach me. The only thing I'm lacking for my trials is time off-planet." Once again she looked a bit sad. "The Council told him they wouldn't allow me anywhere but the Force shielded Temple until I had better control. It's been hard, listening to all of you youngsters bragging about your missions with your Masters while I've had to stay behind, studying how to tame the beast. But now I've finally managed to prove to the Council's satisfaction that I have enough Force control to avoid an interplanetary incident, so we get to start taking missions next cycle." Leaning forward, she fixed Obi-Wan with a bright, intense hazel stare. "What's it like, Obi? Being off planet so much?"  
  
"It's..." Scratching his head, Obi-Wan thought about how to describe it. "You'll have to just experience it, Joma. Every mission is different. Some are fun, some are boring, some are downright dangerous." He looked at her seriously. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. You're going to make a devastating Knight. I didn't realize you were one of those Adepts, but it does make sense." He took a sip of wine. "Not that it's going to help you at the debate."  
  
Blinking at his sudden change of topic, she grinned at him. "Oh, don't be too sure about that Kenobi, I haven't turned on my feminine charms yet."  
  
Grinning back, he said, "And what would that entail, Padawan?" The conversation had been light so he was unprepared when she pounced. Suddenly, he had a lap full of warm female and his wine glass was being Force lifted out of his hand to the end table.  
  
"This," she murmured, then kissed him deeply, with significant tongue involvement. Before he knew what he was doing, his hands were tangled in that hair and his breath was completely gone.  
  
After a few moments, she pulled away, smoldering hazel eyes staring into glazed blue-gray ones. "Whoa," he whispered. "What was that for?"  
  
"Been wanting to do that for years now," she answered, one finger tracing a line from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. "You are always GONE. It's very frustrating to want to get into someone's pants when the person is never around."  
  
There was not much that could be said in answer to that, so Obi-Wan kept quiet and tried very hard to bring his hormones to heel - without much success. She was small, but she was VERY soft and curvy, and because of his on-going frustration with his Master, Obi-Wan didn't stand much of a chance at such a frontal assault. The gleam in her eyes told him she was well aware of that.  
  
Kissing him again, lightly this time, she sighed. "You do taste good. Thought you would. Sorry to have jumped you, Obi-Wan, but I figured I'd better do it now before your unrequited becomes requited."  
  
Senses still reeling - she was quite a good kisser, he noted breathlessly, and tasted pretty good herself - Obi-Wan looked down at her blankly. "Requited?" he said, absently, fingers still carding that soft hair.  
  
Grinning, she said, "Your thing over your Master. I figured I'd better get my licks in now before you go off the market completely."  
  
As her words struck home, all color drained from his face and his eyes grew wide. Sensing his sudden panic, she gasped, put all teasing aside and took his head in both hands. "Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I shouldn't... oh fuck. That was callous of me. I'm so sorry, Master always says my mouth gets away from me..."  
  
"You know." It wasn't a question, and she recognized it as such.  
  
Her expression was miserable. "Yes, I know," she answered, still holding his head and making him look at her. "But I'm probably the only one who does. I'm an Adept, Obi-Wan, I-I just pick these things up. No one else does." She sighed. "I am SUCH a screw up. I figured you had... I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"  
  
Still fighting back panic, "Tell me what you 'figured I had' please." He was quite gratified to realize that his voice was still level and his dread was still under control.  
  
She gently climbed off his lap and sat next to him, her legs curled up under her. "I figured you had come to grips with it. That you had talked to him, or at least had acknowledged it. I guess you haven't then."  
  
Taking a big swig from his retrieved wine glass, he said, "I don't know how you picked it up in the first place."  
  
"Oh, it's so obvious... to me, anyway. Master's been training me to read the nuances, to use my extra Force senses to see connections. It's all part of my diplomatic training. It gets so that it's second nature. Everyone knows that I can tell instantly who is sleeping with whom, who wants and isn't getting, all that stuff. It's why I'm not really well liked, I guess. Everybody thinks they can't trust me. Usually I'm a little better at figuring out the whole thing, but I guess since you're gone so much..." She sighed, closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. "I can't possibly make it up to you. I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan."  
  
Biting his lip, Obi-Wan realized the genuine sympathy and remorse in her words. "No, it's all right," he said slowly, forcing himself to look at her. "You didn't mean any harm by it. It's just a rather... sore subject. No real harm done, Joma. It - it must be hard on you, to have this extra ability. I guess I never realized it would be like that."  
  
She sighed. "You have no idea. I mean, I can tell you're strong in the Force, I can actually _see_ it around you. And the ties between you and your Master... whew."  
  
Obi-Wan wasn't really able to assimilate that so he said nothing, just took her hand. Smiling tentatively, she continued, "Thanks, Obi." Then she looked down and back up at him through lowered lashes, chuckling slightly. "But I'm not getting any tonight, am I?"  
  
He laughed ruefully, then sighed. "I think I'd better go meditate... I guess my reaction was a little strong, wasn't it."  
  
"Um, yeah," she agreed, nodding, "you could say that. Meditation might be a good thing. Gods know I've spent enough time on my knees taming my runaway speeder."  
  
He finished his wine, then turned to her. "But I haven't thanked you for dinner..." and so saying, he grabbed her head and kissed her firmly, using every trick he had ever picked up to give back what he had gotten from her. When they parted, it was her eyes that were glazed.  
  
"Thank you for dinner, Joma," he whispered, not trusting his voice any louder.  
  
"Any time, Kenobi," she answered breathlessly, "any time at all."  
  


* * *

  
After spending some time in one of the moonlit gardens, centering himself and meditating, Obi-Wan felt better able to deal with whatever he found back in his quarters. He knew Qui-Gon was entertaining, and didn't like to think about his Master alone with Knight apNorill.  
  
But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes on his arrival home. His Master and Dorim, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa drinking, singing and giggling. Qui-Gon had waved expansively at his Padawan as soon as his liquor soaked brain registered his presence in the room.  
  
"Obi-Wan! Come sit, Padawan and have some of this wunnerful brandy Dor brought..." Qui-Gon slurred happily, waving a mostly empty bottle in the air. There was another, completely empty, bottle on the cocktail table in front of them, along with the remains of various snack foods and glasses that had apparently been abandoned, as they were sharing the bottle between them.  
  
"Thank you but no, Master," he said somewhat stiffly. "I've already had a few glasses of wine with dinner."  
  
Qui-Gon blinked owlishly at him. "Thass right, you went out to eat. That's where you were. And you're back now. I'm so happy you're back..." His brogue, normally overshadowed by his even tones, was quite manifest. "Dor, did I ever tell you what a wunnerful Padawan I have?"  
  
"Yes, Qui my dear, you told me again and again and again..." the two men's heads came together and they began giggling again.  
  
Qui-Gon looped his arm around the shorter man's shoulders and took another swig of brandy, passing the bottle over. "You know you really need to take a Paddlewan... 'SCUSE me! I mean PAD-a-wan," he enunciated clearly, oblivious to his friend's hysteria at the faux pas. "But you can't have mine. He's the best Paddlewan in the whole damn Temple..."  
  
Shaking his head, Obi-Wan had left them to their brandy-soaked discussion on the relative merits of teaching a Padawan, trying not to show his anger and frustration at his Master's behavior. Sleep was a long time coming as he tossed and turned on his bed, and when it did finally arrive, did not stay long.  
  


* * *

  
The next morning, Obi-Wan was in the kitchen preparing tea and trying to decide if he should make breakfast, when he heard the door to his Master's quarters open. Knowing Qui-Gon would probably be in a very delicate condition, he turned, prepared to make a sarcastic - but quiet - comment. Instead, he froze.  
  
Dorim was just closing the door to Qui-Gon's room as he emerged. He wore only a pair of too-long sleep pants, and moved with the exaggerated care of a man deep in a hangover. He smiled weakly to the Padawan and said, "Do you have any relief patches, Obi-Wan? Qui appears to be out, at least I couldn't find any."  
  
His jaw working, Obi-wan managed to respond politely, albeit bitingly. "That's because he doesn't get drunk. I have a few. I'll fetch them."  
  
The Knight was fixing himself a cup of tea as Obi-Wan returned with the patches. Laying one on the counter for Qui-Gon later, he handed the other to Dorim and watched, stonily, as the man applied it to his neck with a sigh. "Thank you, Padawan. That's just what the doctor ordered. I'm afraid I rather overdid it with your Master last night."  
  
There was nothing to be said in response to that, so Obi-Wan kept quiet. But inside, he seethed. As quickly as he was able, he excused himself to his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.  
  
The relief patch had begun to work by then, and Dorim looked after the Padawan quizzically. Then he picked up the other patch and went back into the bedroom, taking an extra cup of tea with him. The older man was just rousing - with a moan - as the Knight re-entered the bedroom.  
  
Dorim placed the cup of tea on the bedside table and without a word applied the med patch to Qui-Gon's neck. Forcing bleary eyes open, Qui-Gon fixed his friend with a baleful stare. "I hate you," he croaked, then closed his eyes again with a groan.  
  
Chuckling gently as his own hangover began to dissipate in the face of the meds and the tea, Dorim replied, "I brought you some tea. You'll feel better once the relief hits your bloodstream. C'mon Qui, sit up."  
  
"Oh, it wasn't enough for you to do this to me, now you want to torture me too?" With his friend's careful help, he sat up in bed, took the proffered tea and sipped it gratefully, letting the tannins and the fluid restore parched mucus membranes. "All right, I guess this repays some of the debt but you're still not off the hook."  
  
With a smile, Dorim lowered himself back to the bed, stretching out next to his friend with a sigh. Qui-Gon ran his hands through the short hair affectionately. "You really should let this grow, Dor. You still look like a Padawan."  
  
"I'm 43, Qui," he replied, closing his eyes. "And I look terrible with long hair. Besides, no one believes I'm a Padawan anymore. And speaking of Padawans, is yours just not a morning person or has something gotten stuck up his butt?"  
  
Tensing just made his head hurt worse so Qui-Gon tried not too. "Obi-Wan saw - I mean, you saw Obi-Wan?" he asked, sipping his tea and doing his best to avoid looking down at his friend.  
  
Light blue eyes examined him from slitted lids. "Yes, Obi-Wan saw me come out of your bedroom." Qui-Gon did his best not to squirm under that penetrating gaze, but it was no good. "Okay, spill."  
  
"What?"  
  
Heaving a great, gusty sigh, Dorim said, "Qui-Gon Jinn, I am probably the last best friend you've got, that you haven't royally pissed off anyway. I chased tail with you, covered your ass when you came in late, and I helped you cheat at biomechanics. You think I can't tell when something's wrong?"  
  
"I did _not_ cheat at biomechanics."  
  
"You would not have been able to pass without me and you know it. Now _spill_ , dammit. What's going on between you and your Padawan?"  
  
Trying desperately to still the fine tremble in his fingers, Qui-Gon finished his tea and carefully set the cup on his bedside table. Then he drew his longs legs up to his chin and rested his head on his knees. Dorim let him be, knowing his friend needed the time to gather his wits about him.  
  
"Nothing's going on, Dor," Qui-Gon finally answered him, softly. "And that's the problem. At least with me."  
  
The Knight mulled this over for a while, staring up at his friend with fondness and a certain exasperation. "Ah."  
  
When nothing else was forthcoming for a few minutes, Qui-Gon looked down at the man sprawled on his bed. "Just 'ah'?"  
  
Shrugging, Dorim stretched again expansively. "What else do you want me to say, Qui? That I'm surprised you're in love with that exquisite creature living across the apartment? He's gorgeous. He moves like a schoolkid's wet dream and sounds like it too. Or do you want me to say I'm surprised you and he haven't become lovers yet? How old is he, 21, 22?"  
  
"He's 21. Less than half my age."  
  
Snorting derisively, Dorim said, "So? As I recall, I was 15 and you were 18 when we became lovers. And you _weren't_ my first. I'm sure you won't be his first either, not with that mouth. Hell, if I thought I had half a chance I'd be all over him."  
  
Ruthlessly suppressing a jolt of pure jealousy at those words, Qui-Gon said nothing. Dorim felt the emotion in his friend and smiled triumphantly to himself. "You haven't asked why I don't think I have half a chance, you know. And I know you're dying to ask."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Qui-Gon debated hitting Dorim with a pillow and decided he was too fragile for that yet. "And if you think I'm going to ask you're denser than I know you to be. I know what you'll say, and..." Qui-Gon's voice trailed off indecisively. What _would_ Dorim say, that Obi-Wan was in love with him? Impossible. Qui-Gon was too old, too plain, not good enough for that beautiful young man. Obi-Wan could have the pick of any Padawan, most Knights and probably a good percentage of the Masters in the Temple. What would he possibly want with a too tall too old wreck like Qui-Gon Jinn?  
  
Warm arms were suddenly wrapped around him, holding him tightly. "Oh no you don't," a soft voice whispered in his ear. "We've been down that road, many, many years ago and I won't let you go there again."  
  
Letting himself fall into the embrace, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and blanked his mind, centering himself. After a moment, he felt more in control and looked up. "Thank you, Dor."  
  
Kissing him lightly but not letting go of his embrace, the Knight merely said, "You're welcome. But don't say more now, because I think the two of you need a good swift kick in the pants."  
  
That statement should have been amusing but all it did was create panic in Qui-Gon's mind. Dorim felt it and soothed his friend. "No, no, don't worry. Your Padawan doesn't think too much of me right now and I wouldn't dream of saying anything to him anyway. But _you_ need to, Qui. And don't you dare think you don't."  
  
Not able to answer aloud, Qui-Gon just nodded. After a moment, Dorim kissed him again and asked, "You feel all right now? Need another patch?"  
  
"No, I'm all right. Thank you again, Dor, although why I should thank you for getting me in this situation in the first place..."  
  
Chuckling, Dorim released his friend. "SOMEbody's got to penetrate that masterly facade, Qui, and you'd be upset if I didn't at least try. I need the 'fresher. Want to take a shower with me, little boy?" he leered.  
  
Before he could stop himself, Qui-Gon shouted with laughter, then clutched his head and moaned. "I ought to take you up on that just to teach you a lesson," he said, still chuckling as he rubbed his head.  
  
Dorim laughed, then a bit more seriously said, "You sure you don't want to indulge in Mother Dorim's time tested hangover nostrum?" Gently, he brushed his lips against Qui-Gon's and almost against his will Qui-Gon found himself responding, returning the feather-light kiss and running his hands through the short curls.  
  
"Dorim," he murmured against the Knight's lips, hesitantly.  
  
"I won't do anything you don't want, Qui," Dorim said softly, twining his hands through his friend's thick hair, then kissing him again, slightly more fervently. "But tell me now, please," he added, taking one of Qui-Gon's hands and pressing it to his growing erection.  
  
Qui-Gon was torn. He and Dorim had been off-and-on lovers for years before the Knight had been assigned to the Rim, and he found he missed the other's presence. He knew how good it could - would - be, and yet...  
  
Swallowing, he pulled back to look deep into light blue eyes. "Dor, it's been a long time for me, and... and..."  
  
"And now there's Obi-Wan," Dorim finished for him, smiling gently. "I've missed you, Qui, and it looks like I'll go on missing you. But I love you too much not to respect what you're going through." He pressed a kiss once again on Qui-Gon's lips. "But I'm warning you. If you don't do something, and soon, I'm going to come back here and take advantage of you."  
  
Smiling wryly, Qui-Gon said, "That's supposed to be a threat?" Impulsively he hugged his friend tightly. "Go on, use the 'fresher first. I have some calls to make, then we can go get some breakfast."  
  
"Deal." Rising from the bed, Dorim wiggled his way out of his borrowed sleep pants, giving his friend a show and shooting a leer over one shoulder. "If you should change your mind..."  
  
Laughing delightedly, Qui-Gon just made shooing motions with his hands, then got out of bed himself as Dorim used his 'fresher. He threw on a robe and went into the main room to use the dataset, first crossing to knock on his Padawan's door.  
  
Obi-Wan was already gone.  
  


* * *

  
It was all Obi-Wan could do to keep from slamming the door to his bedroom. Inside, he paced like a caged animal, furious - with Knight apNorill, for his Master, and most of all, for himself. _He's a grown man, you idiot,_ he thought to himself, slamming his fist repeatedly into his hand. _You have NO claim on him. NONE. Plus he's your Master; if he wants to fuck somebody that's HIS business not yours..._  
  
Flinging off his robe he threw on his tunics, then sat to fasten his boots. That's when it struck him... there was nothing to prove anything had happened between the Knight and his Master. He was leaping to conclusions again, something he had promised himself never to do. Letting his passion control his serenity. That was bad. He snorted with amusement as he realized that probably nothing HAD happened, they were both too drunk. Which meant...  
  
Closing his eyes, he took a deep, cleansing breath, finding his center, controlling himself. Calming down. Obviously, if he was that wound up over the mere idea that Qui-Gon had spent the night was someone, then he had better talk to his Master about it. Obi-Wan's eyes flew open at that thought, which suddenly felt... right. He needed to talk to his Master. Determine once and for all if he had a chance. Any chance. If not, well, he was still young. He would survive. And it was certainly better than this ridiculous emotional storm.  
  
Once again in relative peace with himself, Obi-Wan exited his room, closing the door behind him. He would go to class, then return for lunch, and talk to his Master. Throwing a glance to his Master's door, which was still closed, he headed for the front door. He heard murmuring voices, then suddenly heard a laughing shout, followed closely by what was definitely a moan. He stumbled and grabbed the back of the couch for support, then fled his quarters before he could overhear anything else.  
  
So much for that.  
  


* * *

  
Obi-Wan somehow found his way to Master Jitchell's lecture, somehow managed to ask coherent questions and get information on lab dates and syllabi, but his heart wasn't in it. In his mind, he just saw his Master with Knight apNorill, and his despair just grew until his whole heart was tied in knots.  
  
His feet automatically led him to the commissary for lunch, where he was found by Joma as he numbly picked over his food, not very hungry. She sat down opposite him with her tray, examining him through narrowed eyes. A first, gentle probe across his mind did nothing to bring him out of his preoccupation, so she launched a second one, almost goosing him through the Force. It got his attention and he looked up at her finally. "What? Joma?" he asked, seeing her for the first time.  
  
"What in Sith hells is wrong with you Kenobi?" she asked mildly, frowning at him. "You look like somebody's just killed, skinned and eaten your favorite pet."  
  
He stared at her across the table, the numbness in his mind reflected on his face. "Nothing. It's all right," he finally answered, turning back to his neglected lunch.  
  
 _Like shit it's nothing,_ she thought to herself, but for once held her peace. It was obvious he was hurting and she liked this young man enough to respect his tacit request for privacy. So instead of probing more, she merely said, "I've spoken to Master Chowian about her Xeno class. She's got room for you and said she'd be pleased to have you."  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled, still not looking up.  
  
Shaking her head, she slid a plasheet across the table at him. "Here's the code to get into the site. You'll need her syllabus and you can feel free to borrow my notes if you want. You haven't missed much, actually. Class meets at ten."  
  
He took the sheet and tucked it into his belt. "Thanks, Joma. I appreciate it."  
  
"Oh, by the way, your hair's on fire," she said conversationally, mentally counting to see how long it would take him to realize what she said. He disappointed her by quirking a grin at her immediately.  
  
"Sorry, Joma. I'm preoccupied. Master has... oh, never mind. It's nothing."  
  
She sighed. "I'm going to be working out in room six at two. If you want, come meet me. I'll run you around the salle a bit if you want. I promise not to hurt you too much."  
  
"Maybe. Thanks," he said, actually taking a bite out of his salad. "I have to see first what... Master Jinn wants me to do..."  
  
"Uh-huh," she replied, raising one eyebrow and finishing her lunch. "I hope to see you later, Kenobi. And please, calm down. All the laughter is distracting."  
  
She managed to get a snorted chuckle out of him at that, then he stood and took his mostly uneaten food to the tray return. She followed him out the door with her eyes, concerned.  
  


* * *

  
Obi-Wan found Qui-Gon sitting at his desk, going through mail and making notes on a datapad. The remains of lunch were on the table; it was obvious that Qui-Gon had expected Obi-Wan to be there for there was an uneaten sandwich on a plate, waiting for him. The Master looked up as the Padawan came in and smiled warmly.  
  
"Lunch is on the table, Obi-Wan," he said, turning back to his work.  
  
"Sorry, Master, I already ate," Obi-Wan said quietly, crossing the room quickly and going into his bedroom, closing the door after him.  
  
Qui-Gon looked up quickly, in time to see the door close, and frowned. Obi-Wan was tightly shielded but it was obvious something was bothering him. After a few minutes, Qui-Gon stood and crossed the room to knock on his Padawan's door. At a muffled "come in" he opened the door to find Obi-Wan in the midst of changing from his tunics to his work out clothes, just fastening his pants, his torso still bare. Leaning against the door frame Qui-Gon caught his breath and fought back a wave of pure lust.  
  
"Is everything all right, Obi-Wan?" he asked, forcing his voice to normality. Obi-Wan didn't look at him as he replied, merely went about changing.  
  
"Fine, Master. Why?"  
  
"You seem... out of sorts. Did you find the classes you need?"  
  
"Yes," he was answered shortly, as an old tunic was pulled on. "Xeno and stat engineering. Both morning classes, which means I can still work out in the afternoon."  
  
"Ah." Obi-Wan's tones were clipped and remote, not like his Padawan at all. "Speaking of workouts, how did your weight training go this morning?"  
  
Obi-Wan stopped in the middle of lacing soft boots. "I'm sorry, Master, I forgot. I was somewhat... distracted."  
  
Puzzled, Qui-Gon frowned. "That's not like you, Obi-Wan. Are you SURE nothing is bothering you?"  
  
Finally Obi-Wan met his eyes, and Qui-Gon was somewhat taken aback at the glittering emptiness there. "I'm quite certain, Master. Do you have anything for me this afternoon?"  
  
Flustered, Qui-Gon blinked several times before answering. "Aside from the weight training, no. Oh, Dorim has invited us out to dinner, outside the Temple, tonight."  
  
Reaching for his lightsaber, Obi-Wan froze. "Us."  
  
"Yes, us. You and me. _What_ is wrong, Obi-Wan?"  
  
There were few things Obi-Wan wanted less in life than to be a third wheel between his beloved Master and the man his Master obviously loved. Clipping his 'saber to his belt, he said, as coolly as he could manage, "I'm sorry, Master, I've made other plans," then made to brush by Qui-Gon, who was still standing in the doorway of his room.  
  
Becoming quite alarmed and frustrated, Qui-Gon grabbed the younger man's upper arm and refused to let him pass. "You made other plans? Without consulting me first? I'd like you to be with us tonight, Padawan."  
  
"With your permission, Master, no, thank you. I'm... I've made plans to see Joma tonight. I don't expect I'll be back before curfew." The lie came easy to his lips, but he refused to meet his Master's eyes.  
  
Qui-Gon by this time was beyond frustrated and was verging on angry. Never before had his Padawan been so actively insolent. Obi-Wan had always been the model of decorum, following his Master's wishes to the point of ludicrousness at times. This stranger he was holding was not his Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon didn't know why but intended to find out.  
  
"We need to talk, Padawan. Now. Come and sit with me."  
  
Heaving a great sigh, Obi-Wan said, "Can't it wait, Master? I'm meeting Joma and I'm already late."  
  
"NO, it can't wait. What is the matter with you, Padawan?" Qui-Gon propelled them to the sofa and sat facing his apprentice. Releasing his hand from Obi-Wan's arm, he reached to caress his cheek and was surprised and dismayed to watch Obi-Wan move away sufficiently to avoid his touch. It was a subtle move, and could have been unintentional, but instincts told Qui-Gon differently, and his heart began to ache.  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, both hurting for different reasons. Finally, Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "What's wrong, Obi-Wan? Why are you acting like this? Have I... is there something I've done or not done..."  
  
Shaking his head and grimacing, Obi-Wan interrupted him. "No, it's nothing, really, Master. I'm fine. I'm... I guess I'm a little preoccupied. I have a lot going on right now, what with classes and all." Idly the young man picked at a fray on his sleeve. "I'm sorry I made plans this evening, but I wouldn't want to interfere between you and Knight apNorill anyway."  
  
Qui-Gon shook his head, trying to interrupt, trying to say how he would rather be with Obi-Wan than Dorim anyway, but Obi-Wan was still talking. "If you don't mind, I... I might not come home. Tonight."  
  
Stunned, Qui-Gon could only stare at Obi-Wan. He knew his Padawan wasn't a virgin but never had Obi-Wan asked to stay out all night. Finally finding his voice he said, "I suppose you'll be at Padawan Phrel's then."  
  
Glancing at his Master out of the corner of his eyes, Obi-Wan assented. "I.. I wouldn't want to..." _to have to listen to you and apNorill screwing your brains out again,_ Obi-Wan thought viciously to himself. But all he said was, "...to interfere with your time together. With Knight apNorill."  
  
"Fine," Qui-Gon finally managed to grate out. "You'd best be off then, Padawan."  
  
Eager to be away from the tension, Obi-Wan practically leapt from the sofa and made it out the door in record time. Qui-Gon stayed where he was, despair eating at him. Finally, he chimed for Dorim and was gratified when the Knight answered immediately.  
  
"Turns out I'm free all afternoon, Dor," he said, trying for a light tone. "Let's get a jump on our evening, shall we?"  
  


* * *

  
He couldn't fool Dorim. They had simply been friends too long. They weren't in the bar of the restaurant five minutes when the Knight was taking his hand and getting him to open up. Intently shredding a napkin into tiny little pieces, Qui-Gon described the conversation he'd had earlier with his Padawan. Dorim sat back and listened, watching Qui-Gon carefully and not saying a word.  
  
And that's the way the evening went, mostly. They had dinner, and drinks, and saw a floorshow, and Qui-Gon talked. About his Padawan, how he felt, how he desired the young man; and Dorim listened, carefully, not judging, but allowing his dear friend to purge his mind of the thoughts and feelings that were slowly killing him.  
  
It was late, Qui-Gon was finally talked out, and they were back at the Temple. The Knight brought his friend back to his temporary quarters rather than to his own. They were fairly barren as he had not gotten any of his personal effects out of storage, but he sensed Qui-Gon did not want to face his own empty quarters.  
  
Bringing his friend a cup of tea, they sat together on the small sofa in companionable silence. Suddenly Qui-Gon looked up and smiled sadly at Dorim. "Some night this has been. Why have you put up with me, Dor?"  
  
Smiling wryly, the Knight replied softly. "Because I love you, you idiot. Why else?"  
  
Carefully, Qui-Gon set his teacup on the small table before him, then buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking in reaction. Dorim pulled him back into an embrace, holding him tightly against the emotions coursing through him. "You've let the passion you feel rule you, Qui," Dorim said softly into the ear he nuzzled. "You need to find your serenity again. Let me help."  
  
Slowly dragging his hands away from his face, Qui-Gon turned his face up to his friend. There were no tears, but his eyes were bright and fevered. "You know," he said roughly, "a Kashyyyk philosopher once said that those words actually meant more than 'I love you'."  
  
Gently, Dorim brushed a stray lock of hair off Qui-Gon's face. "Perhaps so. Stay with me tonight. Let me love you, let me help you." Leaning down, he brushed his mouth against his friend's. "Let me take you into my body," he murmured against the bearded cheek, "you can do anything you want. You know I'll love it. And you can forget, just for a while."  
  
Qui-Gon moaned, closed his eyes and fastened his lips on that familiar warm mouth, dipping his tongue within and tasting desperately. Forgetting, just for a while, that it wasn't his Padawan responding so eagerly to his rough caresses.  
  


* * *

  
Obi-Wan screamed as he orgasmed into a hot, waiting mouth, then moaned as his seed was eagerly swallowed and his cock bathed with a talented tongue. Joma looked up from her position between his legs and grinned. "Like that?" she asked breathlessly. Beyond words, he merely sagged to the bed. She slithered up his torso and draped herself across him, rubbing her breasts against his sweat-soaked chest as she arranged herself comfortably.  
  
He had met up with her in room six earlier that afternoon, and they had sparred a bit, but Obi-Wan's heart wasn't in it. So when she suggested they go back to her quarters, he had willingly agreed. It wasn't long before they were both naked and sweaty on her bed, and had been pleasuring each other for hours, with one break for sandwiches and ale.  
  
Normally, Joma was not one to question windfalls. But her partner had been making love like a man possessed and she was intensely curious as to why, especially when she had pretty much written off any possibility with him the night before. Resting her chin on hands folded across his breastbone, she regarded him with amused hazel eyes.  
  
"Don't tell me I wore you out, Kenobi," she said, grinning. "I thought you'd have more stamina than that."  
  
He smiled and his eyes sagged shut. "Let me recharge a bit and I'll show you stamina, Phrel," he answered her, his arms coming up to run through her hair. It was draped over the two of them like a shroud and he had discovered it smelled wonderful, and he loved the feel of it on various parts of his anatomy.  
  
She arched and purred like a feline to his caress, stretching and capturing his spent penis between her thighs. He felt the small barbell that was pierced over her clitoris rub against his cock, and grinned thinking about his reaction when he first saw it. She was quite amazing. "We'll see, Padawan," she was saying languidly. "You may have to leave before then, you know. It's pretty late."  
  
Almost instantaneously, his face shut down. "No. I can stay all night and..." he looked at her somewhat pleadingly, "I would like to, if you don't mind."  
  
Aha, she thought to herself, sensing the truth at last. "'Course not, Obi-Wan. Master won't be back for another couple of days. And even if he were here, I don't think he'd mind. I take it _your_ Master doesn't either, then."  
  
He looked away from her probing eyes and shrugged. She could tell he didn't want to talk about it, but not for nothing was she considered the debate champion of the entire Temple. "You DID ask him, right? He knows you're here... and why?"  
  
"He knows I'm here," Obi-Wan answered her shortly. "You've got any more of that ale? I'm a bit thirsty." He shifted, trying to dislodge her and rise, but she wouldn't let him. Suddenly, Obi-Wan found himself pinned to the mattress, Forcefully. "What the Sithhell are you doing, Phrel?" he demanded.  
  
"Getting some answers," she replied, still laying at ease on his chest. "First, I want to know just who you've been fucking all evening."  
  
He glared up at her, but was completely defeated by the serene expression on her face. She quite obviously was prepared to wait as long as necessary for her answers, and didn't care a whit for his feelings in the matter. "You're a bitch, did you know that?" he snarled, instantly regretting his words as he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes.  
  
Releasing the Force bonds that pinned him to the mattress, she climbed off, went to the other room and returned with two frosted bottles of ale. He didn't say a word or even move until she returned, simply lay there with his eyes closed mentally kicking himself. As she set the two bottles on a bedside table, he murmured, "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."  
  
She stretched back out on top of him, in the same position as before. "Thank you," she said simply, back to being calm and serene. "Now are you going to answer my question? Because although most of you was here with me, a lot of you obviously wasn't." He glared helplessly at her and she just stared back. "It was your Master, wasn't it?" she asked finally.  
  
His hands flew up to grab the sides of her head. "Please, don't," he said, appalled to find himself on the verge of tears. "Just, don't. Qui-Gon is with... someone. Why can't _I_ be with someone, someone who makes me feel good too?"  
  
Piercing hazel eyes never left his, but her expression softened. "That's a pisser, Obi-Wan," she said gently. "Is that why you've been like a demon all evening?"  
  
Letting his hands drop back to his sides, he closed his eyes. "Yeah. I guess so. I keep seeing... them... together. Damn. I'm sorry, Joma."  
  
"What are you sorry for?" she asked lightly. "It appears to me I got the better end of the bargain. Just tell me one thing."  
  
"What?" he asked, defeated at last.  
  
"Did it help any?"  
  
His eyes opened again, to meet hers. "Don't lie to me," she warned him sternly. "I'll know. Just tell me if it helped, if it fixed the problem."  
  
Swallowing he said, "No. Not really."  
  
She nodded. "I thought as much." Rolling off him, she snuggled into his side, Force lifting a bottle to each of them. "Rest, now; you can sleep here tonight. Then, well, I'm giving you fair warning."  
  
Taking a swig of his ale, he looked down at her with some trepidation. With her hair all over the place and the satiated expression on her face, she looked like some wildly exotic pleasure girl, but Obi-Wan was beginning to know better. "Warning for what?" he asked cautiously.  
  
One eyebrow shot up and she smiled lazily. "You got 24 hours to fix it, Kenobi. You know you can, you know what you need to do. Twenty-four hours from tomorrow morning. Then I take matters into my own hands." She reached down between then and fondled his cock, which was already gaining some firmness just from watching her. "And you already know how good I am at _that_."  
  
Obi-Wan swallowed hard again. Oh, yes, she was good at that. But he still wasn't sure if he was.  
  


* * *

  
Qui-Gon woke slowly, realizing he was not in his own bed first, then noticing the arms that were wrapped around him from behind. A warm shape nestled against his back, and although he knew it wasn't the person he most wanted, the comfort he felt almost made up for it. Carefully, he turned, not dislodging those arms, and faced his lover, smiling as the Knight stretched languidly.  
  
"Good morning," he said, then lowered his mouth for a sleepy, heartfelt kiss. "And thank you, dear one."  
  
"You are quite welcome, Qui," Dorim answered, pulling the older man's head down for a nuzzle. "And thank you. I haven't been loved that vigorously for some time. Feels good."  
  
Smiling impishly, Qui-Gon said, "I must be losing my touch then. I would have expected you to be complaining about being sore."  
  
Grinning back, the younger Knight responded, "Oh, I am, no doubt about that. Must be because of that pole you sport. Ever think about getting reduction surgery there, Qui?"  
  
"Jealous?" he asked, teasing. Force, how he had missed this, the easy camaraderie, the languorous joy of waking up next to someone who loved you. "Like you have any right to be... there's a reason you're always on the bottom, you know."  
  
That comment got him a laugh and a pillow in the face. Next thing he knew, Dorim was laying on top of him, rubbing a returning erection into his. "I'll show you topping," the Knight murmured, before kissing him quite seriously and stealing his breath completely.  
  
Qui-Gon blanked his mind and just concentrated on enjoying as Dorim prepared him, taking his time and driving the Master nearly insane with want. Finally he raised his legs, holding them apart in mute plea as Dorim settled himself between them and gently thrust into his slick channel, both men groaning at the sensation. "More... please, Dor, harder..." he gasped, then choked back a scream as his partner complied, surging strongly into his body.  
  
They settled into a steady, driving rhythm, neither capable of prolonging the ecstatic feelings pouring over them. Dorim laid himself across Qui-Gon, trapping the Master's penis between their abdomens and latching his mouth onto a pebbled nipple, gnawing and licking. Qui-Gon's choked cries inflamed him, and he found himself pushing the older man's legs up over his shoulders as he drove into him.  
  
Arching his back, opening his mouth in a soundless scream, Qui-Gon came, his semen fountaining across the two of them. With a shout Dorim thrust as deeply as he could then froze, his body rigid then trembling as his orgasm washed over him.  
  
When knowledge of his surroundings came back to him, Qui-Gon found himself covered by and filled with his friend, feeling warm and secure and very well loved. He let his mind drift on the currents of his satiation while his hands caressed the strong back of his lover. That part of his mind that concerned itself with day to day obligations gently reminded him of various duties he had been putting off, and almost against his will he realized he was thinking again about Obi-Wan.  
  
Dorim must have felt the change in his thoughts, for he sighed into Qui-Gon' s neck and gently withdrew from his body. Pulling the taller man with him, he shifted to his side and held him tightly, carding his hands through the other man's thick hair. "Qui, love, I'm going to tell you something, then we're going to shower and you're going back to your quarters," he said softly, pulling back to look into deep blue eyes. "Are you ready?"  
  
Blinking, realizing this was going to be serious and he was NOT going to like it, Qui-Gon just nodded.  
  
Quirking a smile, Dorim said, "Much as I love you, you have a tendency towards obtuseness Qui-Gon Jinn. I'm glad we had this night, because it's going to be our last."  
  
At the suddenly devastated look in Qui-Gon's eyes, he raised a hand. "Oh, no, don't you go there. It's going to be our last because you are going to be too busy with someone else. I love you, Qui, I always will, but you love someone else and you are going to have to deal with that. Today. If you don't, then tomorrow morning your Padawan and I will have breakfast together."  
  
Incredulous, Qui-Gon choked out, "Is that a threat? I can't believe..."  
  
"Yes, that's a threat. Someone has got to stop this ridiculous crap going on between you. If it's going to be me, then, so be it. But I'm giving you today to fix it first." Assessing the rebellious and angered expression on Qui-Gon's face, Dorim sighed, unhappy it had come to this. "You love him, Qui. And I'll be damned to six levels of Sith hell if he doesn't love you back. Tell him. Do it or I will."  
  
Satisfied his words had hit home, Dorim regretfully moved away, then stood. "Think about it, love. I'm going to get my shower."  
  


* * *

  
First Obi-Wan, then Qui-Gon, returned to empty quarters to change. Both noted the absence of the other; both felt curiously numb. Obi-Wan went directly to his morning workout and then to class; Qui-Gon, after getting himself some tea and checking his messages, went to the Temple library and a brief meeting with a Council committee.  
  
By lunchtime, the numbness had translated into something akin to serenity, and each had decided to speak to the other. Feeling along a training bond that had become almost atrophied in the last 48 hours from both of them shielding so tightly, Qui-Gon determined his Padawan was in the commissary, probably at lunch. Entering quietly, Qui-Gon got his own tray and sat across the room, his vantage point allowing him to observe Obi-Wan indirectly.  
  
He noted his Padawan sat with Joma Phrel, and had to squash a surge of jealous anger at that. Then he noticed that while they were sitting together, others were sitting with them, and in fact the senior Padawan table was quite full with chattering students. As he watched his Padawan, he became aware of the fact that while others at the table were laughing and talking, Obi-Wan was not doing either, and did not even eat that much. While he ignored his own lunch as well, Qui-Gon could see Padawan Phrel exchange worried looks with Obi-Wan's old friend Bant, and this disturbed him. When it looked as though Obi-Wan was going to rise and leave, Qui-Gon quickly got up and moved to his student, touching him gently on the shoulder.  
  
Obi-Wan knew his Master was in the room with him, knew the moment Qui-Gon had touched the training bond to discover his Padawan's whereabouts. He could feel his Master's gaze on him as he picked over his food and wondered about it, wondered what he could say, wondered if he could live with the man and his re-found lover until he took his trials and could move out. Whereas before this idea filled him with sorrow, now it simply added to the numbness in his heart.  
  
Before he could leave, Qui-Gon had come to him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan wanted to shrink from that touch but couldn't. He glanced up at the man he loved and smiled weakly. "Yes, Master?" he asked.  
  
The words choked in his throat, causing Qui-Gon to cough slightly. "I... um. We need to work on your hand-to-hand, Obi-Wan," he finally said, taking the easy way out. "I wasn't able to get a private room, but I signed us up for a salle in the Small Arena. Can you meet me there in half an hour?"  
  
There was a pleading note to Qui-Gon's voice that Obi-Wan had never heard before, and it unaccountably filled him with anger. "As my Master wishes," he bit out. "I had better change then." Masters were not supposed to ask, they were supposed to _tell_ , to _order_ , and the fact that his Master sounded almost as if he were begging grated on Obi-Wan's already frayed nerves.  
  
Excusing himself from the table he rose, shrugging off Qui-Gon's hand, and left the room. Qui-Gon watched him go sadly, unaware of other eyes looking at him with sympathy.  
  


* * *

  
The Small Arena was a bit crowded when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon arrived. Councilor Depa Billaba was leading a class of initiates in junior katas, and several Padawan pairs were sparring throughout the large room. Qui-Gon had signed them up for a smaller salle off to one side, away from most of the others. Unlike before, their stretching was done in complete silence; neither man wanted to look at the other.  
  
Once slightly limbered up, Qui-Gon began moving into slow katas, his student mirroring his movements. Trying desperately to break the charged silence between them, Qui-Gon began talking softly, keeping to safe topics.  
  
"Who's class did you end up taking in xeno, Obi-Wan?" he asked, not looking at his apprentice.  
  
"Master Chowian," the younger man replied shortly, trying to maintain a precarious center. Obi-Wan knew he needed to speak his mind to his teacher, but now that he was in the man's presence, his tongue seemed tied. The unaccountable anger he felt in the commissary kept rising up, throwing him off balance until it was all he could do to maintain movement in the kata.  
  
"Ah. She's very good. I've heard good things about her classes." Qui-Gon could feel his student's discomfiture and realized it mirrored his own. "I.. uh..." He had been about to ask how Obi-Wan's evening had been then realized it was probably the wrong thing to say. Instead, he said, "We should probably try to work on your hand-to-hand every afternoon, at least as long as we're in the Temple."  
  
A non-committal grunt was his only reply to that, and after a surge of impatient anger - quickly suppressed - his heart sank. He turned, stopping his form, and faced his student. "Obi-Wan," he said, putting his hands on the young man's shoulders and stopping his movement, "if you feel you would be better off with another instructor in combat techniques, I can arrange it."  
  
"No!" Obi-Wan burst out, before he could stop himself. "I mean," he continued, aware that his exclamation had surprised himself as well as his Master, "I mean you are my teacher. I don't see the need. Unless you don't feel comfortable..."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes were haunted, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure why. He frowned, trying to read his Padawan's intentions and emotion. What he felt along the training bond was chaotic, a jumble of passions and uncertainties that only fueled his own tumbling sensibilities. Slowly releasing his Padawan's shoulders, Qui-Gon shook his head and looked away in confusion.  
  
 _I am a Master, for pity's sake,_ he thought to himself. _Why am I unable to deal with this? This is my student, he's hurting for some reason, something I must have done, or something I didn't do he expected of me..._ Qui-Gon drew within himself and struggled to center, then swallowed. "Let's move into the tenth form. Half speed. Take the left defense," he finally said roughly, once again avoiding the issue while once again promising to deal with it... later.  
  
The two were silent for a while as they concentrated on the movement needed for the tenth form. It was a hand and foot attack, balanced somewhat like a dance so that each movement was countered by another. Having Obi-Wan take the left defense meant that Qui-Gon attacked primarily from his right, and gave the older man a chance to observe his student's strengths and weaknesses on the left side.  
  
Again and again Obi-Wan faltered in the defense. Moving at half-speed allowed them both to see and correct mistakes in stance and hold. Qui-Gon began throwing himself into the lesson, murmuring corrections and spotting errors. Strangely, this only caused Obi-Wan more discomfort and loss of center, which made his problems worse. To compensate, he began unconsciously increasing speed, trying to quiet that patient voice that echoed in his head.  
  
"Slow down, Padawan," Qui-Gon finally said, capturing one of his student's hands. "Don't put strain on that knee. I'm glad that Dorim saw that; we could have caused some damage unwittingly."  
  
Wrenching his hand free and moving back into motion, Obi-Wan snarled, "Oh, yes, let us _do_ thank the good Knight for his fortuitous insight."  
  
Qui-Gon's jaw dropped, even as he moved in reaction to the other man's movement. "Obi-Wan! I hardly appreciate that tone of voice..."  
  
Not pausing, Obi-Wan answered, "Yes Master. As you say, Master." He was obviously not contrite.  
  
Unconsciously increasing speed to match his Padawan's charging movements, Qui-Gon struggled for a level voice. "What is the matter with you, Padawan? Your behavior of late is deplorable."  
  
Throwing a punch that was deflected and responded to, Obi-Wan said, "Sorry, Master. Your pardon, Master." The words were rote and uninflected. He continued with his attack, pushing Qui-Gon back as he slowly moved from formal, choreographed movements into actual sparring, freeform. Meeting the attack, Qui-Gon began pressing him back towards the center of the ring, no longer mindful of his student's weaknesses or strength.  
  
Step, pivot, jab: "Obi-Wan, I asked you a question."  
  
Deflect, step back, sweep forward: No answer.  
  
Jump, parry, grab: "Has Dorim done something to offend you? Why are you..."  
  
Parry, flurry of blows, pivot: "Please, Master. Do you have to talk about him _all_ the time?"  
  
Parry, cross defense, step back, sweep: "I don't understand."  
  
Overhand, thrust kick, step: "Then perhaps you would be happier sparring with him! You seem happier to be with him than me anyway!"  
  
Kick attack, pivot, jab: "Hells, Padawan, what are you talking about?" Snarled.  
  
Leap defense, sweep, cross defense: "I can't compete with him! Why do you expect me to?"  
  
Charge attack, sweep: "I DON'T expect you to! You are my Padawan, Dorim's only..."  
  
Parry, jab, jab, kick: " _Only_ your lover! How can you expect to train me with him always hanging on you, hanging after you..." a muted sob negated the effect of the kick attack made by the Padawan, allowing his Master to effectively block and use the move against him.  
  
Press attack, flurry of blows: "Oh, I see. YOU are allowed to take anyone to your bed you wish, but I am not. Is that it?"  
  
Frantic parry, leap defense, faltering step: "I..."  
  
Pivot, sweep, jab, jab: "And just why do I rate this double standard, Padawan? WHAT is the matter with you lately? Why do you have this...anger about Dorim?"  
  
'Anger' was not the word he intended to use. Qui-Gon managed to stop himself just in time before saying 'jealousy' and it appalled him. His attack suddenly weakened, allowing his Padawan an opening, which he took, driving his Master back once again, snarling in his rage.  
  
Without realizing it, Obi-Wan had 'heard' his Master's first choice of word, and it infuriated him. Jealousy WAS what he was feeling, and not only was it pushing him off center it was enraging him to the point he could barely think coherently. He WAS jealous over his Master's liaison with the tall Knight, and the fact that Qui-Gon recognized it terrified him. Yoda was right, fear did lead to anger.  
  
And to something else, in this case.  
  


* * *

  
Depa wasn't sure when the sparring went from friendly training to something much worse, but suddenly her students were making mistakes and shooting glances at the battling pair. Frowning, she cast her Force sense to them and reeled back at the depth of swirling emotion.  
  
After a moment's contemplation, she ended her class early and directed the initiates back to their quarters. Then she quietly went to the other Padawans sparring and exercising and ended their sessions, sending them all to other gyms or to their quarters. As the last of them left, staring amazed at the Master/Padawan battle behind them, she caught one girl's arm.  
  
"Padawan, would you do me a favor please?" she asked quietly. The girl's eyes were huge as she drank in the swirling eddies in the Force around the gymnasium.  
  
"Yes, Master, anything."  
  
"Please fetch Master Windu. He should be in his office near the Council chambers. Do you know where it is?"  
  
"Yes, Master, I do." Before turning, she glanced once more at the involved pair. "Are they going to be all right?" she blurted.  
  
Depa sighed. "I hope so, Padawan. Hurry now."  
  
The young Master stayed near the doors to the gym, preventing anyone else from entering as she waited. It wasn't long before a slightly disheveled Mace Windu appeared, questions on his lips.  
  
"Shhhh..." she said, indicating the pair across the gym floor. He blinked, then gaped at the Force eddies.  
  
"Gods," he breathed. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
"A little less than an hour. They started with katas then went right into open-hand sparring, I don't think they intended Force manipulation but they've been using it. About twenty minutes or so ago, I noticed they were talking, almost shouting. Then... well, you see for yourself."  
  
Both winced as a particularly intense mental 'shout' abraded their nerve endings. "How long have they been communicating purely mentally?"  
  
"Maybe ten minutes? And Mace, I don't think either of them realizes they're doing it."  
  
"Or that they're broadcasting, evidently," Mace replied, wincing again at the mind speech he could pick up.  
  
The two Masters watched their friends for a moment, noting the sweat that drenched both bodies and the intensity in their movements. It was quite obvious the battle was being used to sublimate their reactions to something unrelated, and it was also quite obvious that they would be unable to keep up the intensity for much longer.  
  
Finally, Mace sighed. "Can you handle shielding the room for them? I'll do a barrier around their salle. I think something's going to blow shortly and I'd rather contain it than have the ceiling come down on us."  
  
"Of course. I've locked all the other doors and will stay just outside to shield. You be careful," she added, touching Mace's shoulder. "Don't get caught in their backlash. I'll alert the healers too."  
  
"Good idea," he muttered, beginning to erect his shield.  
  


* * *

  
The two men were attacking now so fast that their hands and feet were mere blurs, sweat pouring off them in tides. Obi-Wan was 'shouting' at his Master, not only oblivious to the fact that he was not only completely out of line for doing so, but also unaware he was doing it mentally. Qui-Gon's responses, also unvoiced, were quiet snarls, which inflamed his apprentice further. Obi-Wan was determined to break through the barrier of Masterly calm, no matter the consequences.  
  
Somewhere deep inside of Qui-Gon, he noted his student's movements with pride. The young man had become so passionate in his fight that his weak left defense had all but vanished, drawn in to the greater whole, compensated for. Another part of Qui-Gon sobbed over the fact that their fight was no longer a training bout, but something far, far worse.  
  
 _It is NOT a double standard! YOU are my MASTER!_  
  
 _And YOU are my PADAWAN! I am sorely tired of having to explain myself to you when I should be receiving proper deference..._  
  
 _DEFERENCE? When I am forced to listen to the two of you rutting like animals?_  
  
 _I beg your pardon._ Icily.  
  
 _Why shouldn't I be allowed to find pleasure somewhere else? My Master obviously doesn't care what I do!_  
  
 _Your MASTER expects his Padawan to treat him with at least a shade of respect._  
  
 _Respect, yes... but how am I to do that when my Master is gods-know-where all night..._  
  
 _As if my Padawan were not..._  
  
 _At least I TOLD you where I would be..._  
  
 _In the arms of that little trollop..._  
  
 _How DARE you! Joma is a true friend..._  
  
 _As Dorim is to me! And to think he believed you felt the same..._  
  
 _Same as WHAT?_  
  
 _That you LOVED me as much as I love YOU!_  
  
For a stunned nanosecond, the pair froze. The Master recovered first, and moving in a right handed attack, used the slight lingering weakness in his Padawan's left knee along with his numb reactions to take down the younger man, ending on the floor, pressing Obi-Wan to the mat.  
  
 _You LOVE me?_ the mind voice was a soft, shocked whisper, the eyes were large, and his brain was whirling with emotions.  
  
Unconsciously, Qui-Gon felt the stunned, deliriously ecstatic response his words had engendered in Obi-Wan, and realized all at once that Dorim was right, there was enough love in his Padawan's body for him to light a star.  
  
Swirling Force eddies coalesced around the prone pair, tying them together tightly, bridging great chasms of misunderstanding and pain. In one fleeting, shining moment, all anger, jealousy, fear and unhappiness was banished into the light of love, comprehension and desire. The generated Force waves, rather than dissipating, were absorbed into them, merging them, sowing true full awareness of each other instantly. And then two mouths fastened on each other, hungrily, drinking of essence and power and overwhelming, intense love.  
  
One of them, or possibly both of them, moaned in need. Hands clutched, pulling bodies already sealed together closer. It was like being in the heart of a sun as the Force drove them together, pushing them towards oneness, spasming as if in intense orgasm.  
  
Abruptly, the Force power began to slowly bleed off, diminishing gradually and leaving them groaning and aching. As the eddies began to abate, knowledge of who and where they were began to seep back in, as well as awareness of two other presences nearby. Panting in reaction and desire, they broke away from each other's mouths. Obi-Wan's eyes were tightly closed, his fists clutching his Master's hair. Qui-Gon buried his head in his Padawan's neck while abused senses sought to identify the others present.  
  
One was quite familiar. "Mace?" Qui-Gon murmured, his voice a raspy whisper.  
  
"I'm here, old friend," Mace Windu acknowledged softly. "Along with Depa. You need to separate if you can. We've bled off the worst of the overload."  
  
The two men on the mat felt as if they had been flattened by a freighter. Both were sopping wet from sweat and trembling from a combination of exhaustion and reaction. With the help of the two Councilors, Qui-Gon managed to roll to one side of his Padawan, then both managed to sit up, propped on one another. "Do you think we'll need the healers, Mace?" Depa asked, brushing Obi-Wan's sweat-soaked hair back and looking at him intently.  
  
"I don't think so. The worst of it has been drained off. And I am going to be escorting these two straight to their quarters, as soon as they can stand up."  
  
Suppressing a grin, Depa inclined her head in assent. "Good idea. We don't need them scaring the initiates in the hallway."  
  
Qui-Gon looked up sharply at the dark Councilor, but his face was an impassive mask. "What the hell..." he started, then a groan from his Padawan made him turn to the younger man. "Obi-Wan? What just happened? Mace..."  
  
"Enough, Master Jinn," Mace said sternly, but softly. "Can you two stand and walk? Good. I am going to escort you back to your quarters, where I expect the two of you to spend the rest of the day and night in bed. In the SAME bed. Then, first thing in the morning, I expect to see BOTH of you before the Council to explain this little stunt. Frankly, I expected better of you, Jinn."  
  
Blinking as he digested this command, Qui-Gon allowed Mace to help him to his feet, even as Depa helped Obi-Wan. When the younger man sagged, his Master enfolded him in a tight embrace, the remaining Force energy singing joyfully between them still. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered. A sharp shake of his student's head was all the response he got before Mace and Depa hustled them out of the Arena.  
  
 _Oh, Master, we're in trouble aren't we?_ The thought burst out of Obi-Wan as they walked down the corridor towards their quarters, and Qui-Gon paused, pulling back to look down at his student, stunned.  
  
 _Obi-Wan?_ he asked, hesitantly. The younger man looked up, shocked, then burst into a brilliant grin.  
  
 _Master?!_  
  
"Stop that," Mace growled, gently urging them to more speed. "I swear, Jinn, you never do anything halfway, do you. You've given every Adept in the Temple a massive headache, you know. Good thing they're so rare."  
  
Wincing slightly, his voice low and deferential, Qui-Gon replied, "I'm sorry, Mace. We didn't handle this very well, did we."  
  
An incredulous snort from one side, and near-silent laughter from Depa was his only response. Then they were at their quarters, and inside, and Mace was settling them on the sofa. Depa got them cold juice from their kitchenette and made them drink. "Electrolytes, gentlemen, you've not quite destroyed your internal systems."  
  
Watching them down the juice thirstily, Mace stood and glowered, his hands tucked into his sleeves. "Now, you two. STAY HERE. You know what to do. Do it. Don't make me come back. Because if I do, I'll bring Yoda with me." That threat was quite enough to make both Jedi before him quail, and he nodded in approval. "Good. Depa, you coming? First thing in the morning, Qui-Gon. Good day, Master, Padawan."  
  
With that the two Councilors swept out of the room, keying the privacy code on the door lock as they did so. In the sudden silence, Obi-Wan sent a hesitant tendril of thought out towards the man sitting next to him. _Master?_  
  
Finishing his juice, Qui-Gon put the bottle on the table next to the sofa. Not looking at his Padawan, he instead focused on his hands clenched tightly in his lap, speaking aloud, but so softly Obi-Wan had to crane to hear. "I've failed you, Padawan. I don't know if you can ever forgive me. I don't know why you should even try. I-I should have understood what was between us long before this, and taken steps to either end it or... or..."  
  
 _You haven't failed me, Master. If anything, it's I who have failed you._ Now that he had experienced this new way of communicating, Obi-Wan didn't want to give it up. He instinctively knew that it would bring him closer to his Master, and that was something he would not hesitate to do.  
  
Not looking up from his lap, Qui-Gon said, "No, Padawan. I am the Master here, it is my duty to you as my Padawan to guide you in all ways. Instead, I cause a scene in the Small Arena." He snorted in sad derision. "How public can one get?"  
  
Gently, Obi-Wan reached out and took one of Qui-Gon's hands in his. _We've been a pretty pair of idiots, Master,_ he sent quietly. _But if you meant what you said in the Arena..._  
  
Finally, Qui-Gon turned to meet his eyes. _IF I meant?_ he asked, turning to the thought speech newly developed between them. Looking into his Padawan's eyes, he realized he was lost. _With nothing but my whole heart and soul, my Obi-Wan._  
  
 _Then WHY didn't you tell me?_ Obi-Wan asked desperately. _I thought I wasn't good enough for you, wasn't worthwhile..._  
  
Raising his free hand to his Padawan's lips, Qui-Gon once again spoke aloud. "Don't think that way, Padawan. Never think that way. You are so far beyond what I could ever hope for myself, a broken down old man who could only dream..."  
  
"What?" Obi-Wan whispered, appalled.  
  
Not wanting to tear his eyes from gray-green depths, Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "All my life, Obi-Wan, all my life I've been too tall, too passionate, too headstrong. Alone. I've only had a few friends... Dorim is one, Mace another...and Dorim is right, I tend to drive them away by both my strengths and frailties. I don't suffer fools easily... you know this. It's a failing. As a youth, I tried to make friends, but would end up driving them away by saying something, by doing something, by not doing something. It made me, well, less than strong in the self-esteem department."  
  
Obi-Wan flinched away from the self-disgust he felt rolling off his Master in waves. "My real friends, Dorim among them, and my Master, helped me compensate. I've become a very successful diplomat - with strangers. Not with friends. And I felt I had managed to alienate you as well... I was so afraid I had done so..."  
  
 _No._ That simple negation burned in Qui-Gon's mind like a beacon. Reaching up, Obi-Wan touched his Master's face gently with his free hand; the other remained entwined with one of Qui-Gon's. _Never. You couldn't possibly alienate me, Master. I love you beyond words. And I always will._  
  
Turning his head, but never taking his eyes from the other's, Qui-Gon kissed the hand that caressed his bearded cheek. The Force sang between them once again, softly this time, pulling them together. _Thank you,_ Qui-Gon said simply, as he gave in to that inexorable pull and leaned to his apprentice.  
  
Their lips touched delicately, sending shocks down two spines, and Obi-Wan's breath hitched in his chest. Both hands coming up to cradle his Padawan's head, Qui-Gon asked, _What? Are you all right, my Obi-Wan?_  
  
Eyes shining with unshed tears, Obi-Wan couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. _It's just not how I imagined it,_ he said, his hands now buried in Qui-Gon's hair. _I've dreamed of this moment so long, when I'd finally get to tell you and you'd let me in..._  
  
 _My poor love,_ Qui-Gon said, distraught. _I've hurt you so..._ At his Padawan's vehement denial, he swallowed and tried again. _How...how_ did _you dream of it, Obi-Wan?_  
  
 _Oh, you know, the usual bad romance novel stuff; passionate kissing, clothes disappearing like magic, you being your usual Masterly self while fucking me until I screamed..._ The sudden heat his words brought both of them staggered Obi-Wan. _Qui-Gon?_  
  
 _Say that again._  
  
Two sets of eyes dilated in passion. _Qui-Gon. Master. My love..._  
  
 _I love you, Obi-Wan._  
  
Without even realizing it, their lips were once again locked together and the Force was singing along their every nerve ending. Their minds moved together as their tongues did, feeling, tasting, caressing until they were insane with want. Tunics stiffened from dried sweat were pushed aside so fingers could reach overheated skin. Their blood song began to rise again towards a fevered pitch, but this time it was gentler, less frantic, as if realizing it would not be long before consummation would occur and there was more time to enjoy.  
  
Gasping, Qui-Gon broke away from Obi-Wan's luscious mouth, licking along his neck to nibble on an earlobe. "Bed, now, I think..." he murmured, moaning as his Padawan bit at his collarbone.  
  
"We have been commanded to do so, haven't we, Master?" the younger man asked, grinning impishly amidst his fevered arousal.  
  
"Yes, we have," his Master answered, snaking his arms around the younger man 's waist and squeezing tightly. "And I would hate to disappoint Master Windu."  
  
Both men pulled off their boots before rising from the sofa, then left tunics dropped behind them in a trail to Qui-Gon's bedroom. As each new inch of skin revealed had to be touched and tasted, the journey took much longer than it should have. By the time they reached the side of the big bed, they were naked and burning.  
  
With one hand on the back of the taller man's neck, Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon's mouth down to him, then abruptly tumbled them both on the mattress, laughing a little in delight as the air whooshed out of him. "Ridiculous Padawan," Qui-Gon gasped, as their erections touched and rubbed against each other. "The point is to _avoid_ being pinned."  
  
"Not in this venue, Master," Obi-Wan moaned as Qui-Gon sucked at his neck, raising a mark. _I feel so... strange... like I'm floating..._ he continued, reveling in the feel of his Master's mouth on his skin.  
  
Their minds melded so closely, Obi-Wan could feel the sudden spike of fear, and managed to pull back enough to look closely at Qui-Gon. _What? Qui-Gon, what is it?_  
  
Shaking his head, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. _This is wrong, I'm going to ruin our student/teacher relationship..._  
  
 _Stop that._ Obi-Wan's mental voice was firm. He wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon's lower back and ruthlessly thrust their cocks together. At the sensation, the older man gasped and his eyes flew open. Obi-Wan locked gazes with him. _I love you, Qui-Gon Jinn. You are my Master and my love. If you think I would allow my love for you to impede my progress towards being a Jedi Knight, then you don't know me as well as I thought. There have only been two things in my life I've wanted with all my heart. To be a Jedi, and to stand at your side. I will give neither one of them up._  
  
Gentling the fierce glare, Obi-Wan pushed Qui-Gon's hair out of his face. _We will be fine. We are the best Master/Padawan pair in the Temple. Everyone says so. And you know it's true. And if you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I'm liable to do something drastic._  
  
Overwhelmed at his student's complete faith in him, Qui-Gon swallowed hard, then chuckled. _Not thirty seconds, love,_ he said, stroking his hands down the velvety softness of Obi-Wan's flanks, _I intend to take my time and love you most thoroughly. I do believe you've dreamt about me making you scream..._ Slowly his head followed his hands, his mouth and tongue dancing across salty skin.  
  
Obi-Wan caught his breath. _Oh, yes. Yes, yes yes yes MASTER!_ Fisting the bedclothes, Obi-Wan struggled to keep from thrusting into the hot mouth that suddenly engulfed his penis. Qui-Gon slid his lips down then back up the rigid shaft, savoring the salty taste of pre-come, reveling in the smell of the one man he loved above all.  
  
 _Watch me, my love,_ he commanded, then locked his eyes onto Obi-Wan's as the younger man lifted his head. Slowly, slowly, Qui-Gon moved back down, using his fingers to fondle tight balls, relaxing his throat to swallow completely, then sucking strongly.  
  
That was all it took. Hoarsely screaming his Master's name, Obi-Wan came and came, and Qui-Gon swallowed it all down, fighting his own orgasm off. The hot pulses in his mouth combined with the flood of sensation across their newly deepened bond almost unmanned him.  
  
Abruptly, Obi-Wan sagged onto the bed, totally boneless and out for the count. Qui-Gon took a moment to enjoy the sight of his beautiful Padawan draped across his bed in sexual satiation, then caressed his face, stood up and moved into the 'fresher.  
  
Obi-Wan came back to himself and realized he was missing the warm presence of his Master. He looked up in time to see Qui-Gon emerge from his 'fresher, a small tube in one hand. His huge, thick erection was almost rigid against his belly; his eyes were alight with lust and longing; his hair was disheveled. _I've never seen a more beautiful sight,_ Obi-Wan sighed in to their bond.  
  
 _That's just because there's no mirror over you,_ Qui-Gon replied tenderly, laying back down on the bed and kissing his Padawan. _My lover,_ he whispered, caressing the warm flesh laid out before him like a feast.  
  
 _My love,_ responded Obi-Wan, languorously kissing him back. _Love me, Qui-Gon,_ he said, feeding his undampened arousal into the bond.  
  
Without a word, Qui-Gon set about preparing Obi-Wan for their joining, coating shaking fingers with gel, then tenderly inserting them, loosening and lubricating the tight channel. A gentle circular stimulation of the prostate resulted in most gratifying sounds, and Obi-Wan's penis began to take a renewed interest in the proceedings. At last Qui-Gon was satisfied, and Obi-Wan was completely incoherent, pleading and sobbing in need, his penis once again rigid.  
  
He couldn't find the tube in his haste, so he coated his erection with the remaining gel from his fingers, groaning in need. Then Qui-Gon wrapped Obi-Wan's legs around his waist and slowly breached that tight little hole, closing his eyes and desperately concentrating on not coming too soon. _I'm not going to be able to hold off, Obi-Wan,_ he groaned into the bond, pushing as slowly as he could into the tightest heat he had ever imagined.  
  
 _No, no, then don't, just... just oh gods Qui-Gon Master PLEASE..._ It seemed to Obi-Wan that he was being torn in two and it felt better than he could have ever imagined; he panted and gasped, tightening his legs around the bigger man pressing into his body, keening his need to feel it all, to have it all inside him. _NOW, Qui-Gon, oh please oh please NOW..._  
  
Suddenly, he was there. Frozen into stillness, completely engulfed in the hot tightness that was Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon stared down into passion glazed gray-green eyes, memorizing every inch of that glorious face. _Obi-Wan... beloved..._ he groaned, then slowly pulled out only to thrust back in as hard as he was able, angling to reach the sweet spot he had felt earlier.  
  
Obi-Wan screamed, his back arching and legs clenching around Qui-Gon's torso. _YES! AGAIN!_  
  
Once, twice more Qui-Gon managed to thrust, then threw his head back and wailed his orgasm, even as Obi-Wan spurted his come all over the two of them, gasping and crying out. Nearly unconscious with the force of his climax, it was all he could do to avoid crashing down on top of the smaller man, falling instead to one side and just able to pull Obi-Wan over into an embrace.  
  
An interminable time later, Qui-Gon came back to himself, aware of intent scrutiny. Taking a deep breath, he stretched then opened his eyes, finding himself gazing up at Obi-Wan. Briefly he searched for the words to convey the depth of his feeling, the power of the passion the two of them had shared; none seemed sufficient. He settled for, _I love you._  
  
 _I know. Now. And I love you. More than I ever did, more than I could have imagined._  
  
 _Do you know what Dorim told me this morning?_ he asked hesitantly, looking for signs of jealousy and thankfully finding none. _He said that he knew how much I loved you, and he'd be damned to all Sith hells if you didn't love me back. And that he would tell you if I didn't._  
  
Obi-Wan blinked, abruptly overcome with a strange combination of wonder, shame, thankfulness and sorrow. _What a pair we are, my love, my Master,_ he finally said, swallowing against the lump in his throat. _Joma basically told me the same thing. It seems we have friends who know us better than we know ourselves._  
  
 _I'm sorry for what I said about her._  
  
 _I'm sorry for what I thought about_ him _._  
  
 _No more recriminations? No more anger?_  
  
Grinning brilliantly, Obi-Wan said, "No more excesses of passion. Just love, and the serenity I feel whenever I'm around you. And maybe some lust too."  
  
Laughing, groaning and fighting off tears of joy and reaction all at once, Qui-Gon said, "You're going to kill me. And I'm going to love every single second of it."  
  
Kissing his Master tenderly, Obi-Wan answered, _Yes, and I am too._  
  
Sighing, Qui-Gon settled the younger man against him. "This is going to be difficult... drawing the lines and figuring out what this new relationship means."  
  
"We'll manage," Obi-Wan said firmly.  
  
"Yes, I expect we will." Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan and held him tightly, nuzzling his sweat soaked hair. "Don't take this the wrong way, love, but you stink."  
  
Chuckling from his position of cuddled against Qui-Gon's chest, Obi-Wan answered, "You do as well, my Master. Perhaps we should clean up. It's been a rather adrenaline day."  
  
Stroking one hand down Obi-Wan's slick back, Qui-Gon said, "Then perhaps we should move to the 'fresher. Where we can take a bath. Together. And you can have your turn at making me scream." A sharp indrawn breath and Obi-Wan sat up, staring down at his Master with a strange expression on his face. "Would you like that, my love?"  
  
"Yes," Obi-Wan responded breathlessly. "I would."  
  


* * *

  
It was a chastened but exceedingly relaxed and serene Master/Padawan pair that took their lumps before the Council the next day. Stern lectures were given, and both found it easy to present a picture of abject repentance. Which didn't fool anyone on the Council for a second; their bond fairly sang with happiness and contentment. But the forms were followed and tradition appeased, leaving all involved happy.  
  
The next day was the debate, and as expected, Obi-Wan lost. But not before getting a few licks in; Master Gib-Wahl was beside himself with happiness that someone could come so close to defeating the undefeated Padawan Joma Phrel.  
  
Joma was happy as well. When she was announced winner she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and hugged Obi-Wan tightly. "Told you," she said, grinning ear to ear.  
  
"Told me WHAT, Phrel?" he asked with mock exasperation.  
  
"Told you I'd win. At least this round." She smiled as she saw Qui-Gon approaching through the crowd, his face shining with pride and joy for his apprentice. "But I think you've won the war. Haven't you?"  
  
Taking Qui-Gon's hand, Obi-Wan nodded to his friend. "Yes, I have, haven't I. Thanks, Joma."  
  
She kissed him lightly on the cheek, having to strain to reach it. "No problem, Kenobi. You're welcome."  
  
Dorim was not at the debate. He had been sent off, back to work; but as he put it, anywhere beat the Rim. Before he left, he presented the two of them with a bottle of fine old sparkling wine, congratulating them and wishing them well. After hugging Qui-Gon, he turned to shake Obi-Wan's hand but found himself pulled into a rough embrace. "Thank you," the Padawan murmured into the Knight's ear.  
  
He smiled down at Obi-Wan. "For what?"  
  
"For being such a good friend. To him... to us. I'm sorry for my behavior earlier."  
  
Squeezing the younger man's upper arm, Dorim just smiled. "It was completely understandable and therefore I am not in the least offended. Just... take good care of him. That's all I ask."  
  
Looking at his Master, Obi-Wan grinned. "No problem there, Dorim. No problem at all."

* * *

  
end


End file.
